


Flesh and Blood

by Gryphonrhi



Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: Female Character of Color, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Possibly Pre-Slash, Troubles (Haven), day in the life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2011815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonrhi/pseuds/Gryphonrhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haven's nicest convenience clerk just gave Nathan a chance to learn more about the town's 'cleaner.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flesh and Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [killabeez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/gifts), [samjohnsson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samjohnsson/gifts).



> Set in season 2 between "Sparks and Recreation" and "Lockdown." Written because Sam and I were wondering when Dwight became someone Nathan trusted. Also written for Sam and Killa's birthdays. (Yup, I'm so late I'm early. Oops?)

Dwight flung himself behind a convenient tree trunk, got his arms over his head, and waited out the last flying shards and falling branches. Last night's rain had made the ground nice and muddy under the pine needles. A guy never knew how useful mud was until he'd been in the military – or around the Troubles. And hell, with this much adrenalin in his system, Dwight could have rocks under him and he wouldn't know yet.

Damn. Sounded like Hafya had really blown her temper. He just hoped she hadn't blown herself up along with the bastard who'd been attacking her. "Hafya? You all right?"

Silence. Well, fuck. "Chief?"

More silence. Yeah. This day could still get worse.

If he hadn't heard his own voice, and the occasional still-falling pine cone, Dwight might've thought he was deaf. He hauled himself back up, swiped hair out of his eyes and blood and mud off his forehead and called, "Wuornos! Hey! _Nathan_! You okay over there?"

Dwight took his time leaving the pines for the road. Hafya'd lost it good and proper, not that he blamed her. He didn't speak Arabic, not really, but he'd known several of the insults that guy had been screaming at her, and the nutcase had been waving a bottle in one hand and a good-sized knife in the other while he yelled.

Problem was, once Hafya's temper went, so did her control over the Trouble that had sent her to Haven. That'd left Dwight and Nathan diving for cover as rocks, dirt, and twigs exploded out from around her, acquiring edges and points as they went. Whatever had been in that bottle, her attacker had howled when it broke in his hand and the contents splattered him.

Dwight looked the trees over again. Yeah. At least three pines down on each side of the road, his truck had one window broken and the windshield spider-webbed, and Nathan's Bronco had three flat tires and looked like it'd taken a shotgun blast at short range. No way was the Chief driving that until they were sure nothing in the engine was punctured.

Cleaning this one up was still going to be easier than the Little League game.

Motion in the edge of his vision brought Dwight around, a knife of his own coming out as he did. Nathan had his gun out, but he pointed it up at the sky until Dwight got his blade back down. "Sorry. Guess I'm jumpier than I thought."

"Yeah, well, Haven's nicest convenience clerk just blew up a road." Nathan saw his truck and winced. "And my truck. Great." Both of them were looking around for Hafya, for the purple and silver _hijab_ she'd found that matched her work shirt or that dark hair that sometimes escaped and should show up against the light-colored gravel.

Dwight spotted her first and pointed to the side of the road. "There."

Nathan nodded. "Good. I see her cousin. Check on her; I'll see if the guy's alive." He tapped his radio with his free hand. "Laverne, we're gonna need an ambulance out on Route 18, call it two miles north of Pine Road. They'll know us when they see us; tell 'em to watch for trees down on the shoulders. I need two tow trucks, too."

"One," Dwight called. "My truck'll make it in."

"Okay, one," Nathan said tiredly, his voice receding as he moved down the road. "Ah, hell. I need the coroner, too, Laverne."

"I'll get them all out there, hon." Laverne's voice was as soothing as ever; sometimes Dwight thought her calm was the real reason Garland had hired her however many years ago. "Do you want Audrey, too?"

"Nah, it's all over but the clean-up. Let her have her date. While you're at it, call the Kwik-Stop over on Fourth. Let 'em know that Hafya's helping us with a case. She's not in trouble but she's gonna miss this shift." Dwight could hear him coordinating it all, tired and steady as his dad had been, calm about it all in ways his dad hadn't really been. Garland hadn't been bad to work with, but Nathan looked like he might be easier.

Hafya was half-collapsed against a rock, her clothes partially shredded by the shards she'd created. She looked exhausted, terrified, and defiant. Dwight deliberately put his knife away and buttoned his jacket over it before got within ten yards of her. Once his hands were empty, he crouched down into her line of sight.

Dwight held his hands out, palms up, and said gently, "Hey, there, Hafya. You remember me?"

She looked at him, at his lack of weapons and the careful distance he'd left to let her run, and nodded once, a crisp motion that ignored the hair straggling down the side of her face. She met his eyes defiantly. "Yes. You are Dwight. You never say rude things to me or stare at my _hijab_ , and you always tip when I make you coffee."

Dwight smiled at her. "Hey, when a lady can make the best coffee in Haven with a truck stop hotplate, I have to tip her. Right?"

Hafiya sniffed but it went from haughty to tears in half a breath. Dwight let her sob once before he moved one hand cautiously towards her. She waved him back sharply, still crying, so he nodded and settled farther onto his heels to wait.

Nathan came up behind him as her sobs were winding down, deliberately noisy, and with his hands also out and empty. Blood was running down his left hand, and Dwight was starting to stiffen up himself. "You okay, Hafya?"

"Are you going to arrest me?" she asked helplessly, still trying to get the tears under control.

Nathan shook his head. "Nope. You didn't do anything wrong. Sammy called me, said some guy had chased you out of the shop with a knife and that we'd better find you fast. Your cousin again?"

Dwight glanced over at that, but Nathan gave him a look that said he wasn't getting that answer and shouldn't have asked it, either. Dwight zipped his lips shut and Hafya smothered a giggle. Still shocky, but better.

"Yes." She swallowed. "It was Salih. He was going to—" She froze, staring at both of them, eyes widening. The last tears spilled down her cheeks.

"He was making the same threats he made yesterday?" Nathan asked. He'd pulled out the voice he used with upset kids.

"He was going to hurt me and then kill me, but oh, I have done to you what he was going to do to me!" She reached out to Nathan. "I did not mean to cut you, Chief. I am so sorry!"

She touched the blood on his hand and Nathan looked down, following her motion. "Hey, it's nothing. I can't feel it. But you're bleeding too, Hafya. Did he cut you? Or was this from running through the trees?" He was still in reassuring mode, and it was almost working.

"What?" Hafya reached up to her cheek and stared blankly at the blood on her fingers. Usually she looked early twenties; in shock like this, Dwight thought she looked like a teenager. "Oh. No. He did not get to me." Her mouth twisted. "I was always faster than Salih." She looked up, trying to look calm and still sounding scared. "Is he… is he dead?"

Nathan nodded once. "Yeah, he's dead; no, you're not in trouble. No one is going to arrest you for self-defense, and you did better with your Trouble than anyone could have hoped for, Hafya. It's okay. Coroner's gonna say the same thing. Well. Probably not the Troubled part."

She didn't look like she believed them. If she'd had to come to the States to get away from this guy, Dwight didn't blame her. The ambulance siren interrupted them, however, and after that, Nathan was busy getting Hafya taken care of – tree branches had done a number on her arms and legs – and the EMTs were busy reassuring her that, yes, really, her yearly ambulance subscription covered this.

Laverne always did know more than anyone believed. Dwight would bet half a dozen doughnuts that she'd specifically asked for Michelle and Toni to make this run. Good. Sympathetic women were just what Hafya needed right now, and she probably wouldn't have let male EMTs work on her, anyway.

Dwight got Nathan's Bronco headed off to Mick's Machine Shop – best local car mechanic since Lewis's Trouble got out of hand – and turned around in time to see the ambulance leaving with Hafya, but not Nathan. Great. He ought to be better at coping with his Trouble than this. Garland's bitching was sounding more reasonable about now.

Dwight dug into his truck for the first aid kit from his truck and a battery-powered lamp he'd used time and again. Nathan got there as he was turning around. Better. "Pull up a bumper."

Nathan glanced at him. "Seriously?"

"Hey, it's me or the hospital. I can drive you there?" Dwight offered. He looked Nathan's eyes over, but the pupils were still even. Probably no concussion. "How'd you distract Michelle, anyway?"

"Michelle had reasons to get away from her family, too." He shrugged. "I told her Hafya might need someone to talk to. What kind of clean-up are we looking at?"

"You get to deal with a story for what's left of Salih. My part of it is our trucks and some trees. Not a problem. I'll call it a wild lightning strike – there's a crater from Hafya throwing everything at him. After the Little League game and with those clouds overhead, folks'll believe it."

Dwight looked around, appraising the rest of the damage. "Rest of it's no problem. I'll paint the trees against bugs tomorrow, the ones that'll make it, and cut down the rest. Gonna end up with some firewood out of this." Some of that would end up with Nathan, more of it to Parker's new apartment. She wouldn't have any stocked yet and not much spare time to handle it. After that, well, there were always folks who could use extra firewood before winter.

Dwight waved a hand at Nathan's coat. "Come on, shed out of that. Let's patch up what we have to, then get inside to get the rest." He studied the clouds again. "Oh, yeah. Rain coming. I don't know about you, but I want some coffee after that, maybe some soup."

"Yeah, coffee sounds good," Nathan admitted. He shucked out of his denim jacket more easily than Dwight could right now; he'd landed on rocks, all right. The bruises were letting him know it, too.

When the jacket came off, it tore open a long, shallow gash that'd probably only just clotted. The cut wasn't deep enough to need stitches but it ran from shoulder almost to opposite hip. Dwight could see another six or ten gouges through the tears in the flannel shirt, at least, and winced in sympathy Nathan didn't even know he needed. "Yeah, okay. Brace yourself, I need to put pressure on this. Good thing Hafya wasn't trying to kill us. How bad was the guy's body? And why was he after her?"

Nathan shrugged but he held still again when Dwight glanced up enough to glare at him. "Pretty bad, but part of that's his own fault – that bottle he had was full of acid. We'll use that to help cover up the condition of the body. He threw some more acid on her door yesterday, claimed she 'dishonored' the family. Apparently, coming to America wasn't far enough."

Dwight finished taping down the pressure bandage. "Hafya? Yeah. Sure, she did. What'd she do, admit to liking some guy out loud?"

"Not really mine to say," Nathan finally answered. He climbed up into the truck and swiped windshield glass off the seat to take shotgun.

"Good point. Sorry. Shouldn't have asked." Dwight started the truck and turned down the AC; he felt kinda cold. Maybe the front coming in, maybe some shock. Nathan probably wasn't much better and just didn't know it. He was decent company in a car, though. He didn't seem to feel a need to talk, but his silence was more comfortable than Garland's had been, less prickly with unspoken words.

The outside light came on automatically when they pulled up to Dwight's house. Dwight glanced around equally automatically before he got out. He didn't see anything out of place, so he unlocked the door.

The new chief wasn't behind him.

Dwight turned back and saw Nathan still sitting in the truck – trying out official stories for the reports, probably. He raised his voice to call, "Hey, Wuornos! The coffee's inside." That got him up and moving.

Dwight turned on the coffeemaker, then turned on the lamp in the living room. "Grab a seat." He hunted down a sheet to throw over the couch, two sets of dry, intact sweats, and the house first aid kit, which was a lot more comprehensive than the one in the truck. When he came back with it, Nathan was standing in the kitchen, watching the coffee trickle down.

Dwight looked at how fast the stuff was brewing and shook his head. Pot wasn't nearly done yet. "Come on, Chief. You can have the first shower." He reached out and started plucking the last few splinters and pine needles out of Nathan's hair. "Watch for debris when you soak your hair, okay? I don't see any glass, but." He shrugged. "Doesn't mean some didn't fly that far."

"And rock chips." Nathan pulled a chip of stone dark with mostly-dry blood out of Dwight's hair, then a splintered piece of wood almost as long as his finger. "How'd you miss this?"

"Eh. Need a haircut." Dwight looked at him. "Go on. Leave me some of the hot water, all right? I left some sweats in there, but you probably don't want to put the top on 'til I tape up your back." Nathan considered arguing, but Dwight pointed out, "Coffee's not ready yet. You might as well."

# # #

Nathan set the water evenly between hot and cold and tried to resist temptation. The cop in him wanted enough time to snoop around the bathroom to learn more about his dad's 'cleaner;' the rest of him was grateful for a chance to get cleaned up and get coffee before he had to go settle matters back at the station. He compromised with a quick glance around.

Like Dwight's truck, the bathroom was both tidy and reasonably clean. Probably cleaner than Nathan's, honestly. The box of Disney Princess Band-Aids by the sink was the only thing that suggested Dwight didn't live here by himself.

The sound of the water through the taps changed and Nathan climbed in before he ran out hot water he couldn't even properly appreciate. He made himself look down as he moved; if his foot didn't clear the top of the tub, he'd end up with another broken toe. When he'd done that as a kid, it had taken a lot of daily checking before the bone healed enough to quit worrying about.

When the water ran clean again, he got out, dried off, and pulled on the sweatpants. He rolled his own clothes into a bundle, bloodier parts in the middle. Nathan took the sweatshirt back to the living room with him, sniffing appreciatively. The soap hadn't had much scent – Ivory, probably – which meant he could smell chicken stew, pine and maple logs, and fresh coffee.

Dwight looked up, hair pushed back from his face and the worst of the blood out of his beard. He'd turned on WJZP; they were fundraising again, it sounded like. "There's a mug of coffee on the counter for you. I'd give it another minute before you drink it, or there's milk in the fridge. Stir the stew in a couple minutes, will you?"

"Sure." Nathan nodded. "Go clean up. I've got this." Dwight mostly concealed a hiss as he pushed up off the bar stool and into motion. He was moving pretty stiffly, footsteps thunking just out of rhythm against the floor. His jeans were only muddy, from what Nathan could see: no blood showing, anyway. Dwight was probably just bruised and feeling it.

That was a stupid thing to envy.

Nathan added milk to his coffee, stirred the stew, and checked the time; no point letting Dwight's dinner burn. He drank half his mug of coffee, hoping he wasn't burning his tongue with it, and checked in with Laverne. He told her go home and let Mitch take dispatch for the night, smiling when she finally agreed that she was going to be late to her hair appointment and should run.

The rain started just as Nathan got off the phone. Huge drops came down first, then a sheet of rain that billowed grey outside the window. A few lightning bolts flashed, which would be damned useful to cover up Hafya's explosion, but then the rain settled into a slower, steadier fall that wouldn't cause power outages. Nathan ended up turning on another couple lights before Dwight came back in.

He had another med-kit in his hand, a smaller version of the one from his truck, and his hair was still damp, pushed back to curl around his face. Nathan could see antibiotic cream applied to the cut along one edge of his beard. Dwight opened the med-kit on the coffee table and settled down next to him on the couch. "How's Hafya doing? And hold still for me, okay?"

Nathan's view shifted just enough he knew Dwight had pushed him forward a couple inches. He leaned back against it, until his position steadied. "How's that? And Hafya's going to be fine. She'll be back at work tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's good. Maybe a little less force if you can. These don't need stitches now, but get somebody at the office to check for you tomorrow. You'll need to change the bandages and tape 'em back up after you get a shower in the morning."

Nathan nodded. "No problem. And Dr. Lacey says that it's amazing what can happen when that much acid hits a crack in wet rock. Salih dropped the bottle, burned his own leg, and partially exploded a rock under himself. He also landed on his own blade, the idiot. If the rock hadn't killed him, he might have bled out anyway."

He could almost see Dwight's grin just from his voice. "Nice deadpan there. You're getting good at that. How's the coffee?"

"Tastes amazing. You buy convenience store coffee with this in your kitchen?"

"I have to buy gas somewhere, and Hafya's got a real good eye for things being not quite right with her customers. Besides. I can't figure out what spices she throws in when she brews hers." Behind him, Nathan could hear tape being ripped and then cut.

"Bring a cup by the station one morning, I'll see if I can tell you," Nathan offered. He paused. "And the stew's about to scorch."

"Hell." Dwight vanished from behind him, leaving a dip in the couch that Nathan almost rocked back into. Metal moved against glass in the kitchen, then Dwight came back with a bowl in one hand that looked and smelled like Nadine's granola. No one else made it with that mix of molasses, ginger, and vanilla. "Great, caught it in time. I'd say thanks, but that's your dinner too."

"You're already patching me up instead of making me argue about whether I need _another_ CT scan this month." Nathan added, "And I'll start listening to Hafya, too. Thanks for the heads-up on that." The jazz station shifted from commercials to Ella Fitzgerald singing about black coffee.

"Good. And the med-techs have a point, y'know, Nathan. You can't give them valid information. Not your fault, but there it is." Dwight's voice was a surprisingly reassuring rumble when he wasn't in clipped, crisis-managing mode. "You've got a lot of old scars back here, some of 'em pretty wide. Looks like they didn't always get proper follow-up care. Can't say I entirely blame the medics for wanting to drag you in when you turn up covered in blood."

Nathan shrugged, resigned. "You know what Haven's like. Hey, those holes back along the shoulder – how do they look? Parker says they're healing up fine."

"The ones that look like maybe .22s?" Dwight took a few second to check them, not quite humming under his breath. He finally reported, "No heat, not too red. Not healed all the way, but healing nice and clean. What're they from?"

"Lewis's nail gun didn't want to let me or Parker out alive."

Nathan started to shrug; he froze when Dwight said, "Chief. I can hear your stomach growling. Eat some of the granola, that's why I put it there. Just try to mostly hold still, okay? Some of these are pretty bad."

Nathan pulled the granola closer, taking a handful in the process. "If you say so. It's kinda hard to take things I can't feel that seriously." He popped the granola in and chewed happily, wondering if Nadine had added the dried cherries or Dwight had. The change tasted pretty good either way.

"I can kinda see that, Nathan, but if you get dropped by infection, town council's just gonna appoint a new chief of police – probably with the Rev's input. That wouldn't be good. So either ask someone at the station to change out the bandages for the next couple days or gimme a call. The station's not out of my way most days, okay?"

"Hey, I do check injuries to make sure they're not getting infected," Nathan promised. "And I guarantee you; I smell something going bad a _long_ time before anyone else does."

"That's great, but seriously. Call, okay? That way you can even tell Toni and Michelle that someone's keeping an eye on you." Dwight kept working, close enough that Nathan could smell cologne or shampoo or something, sandalwood maybe and something a little spicy. It didn't go badly with the chicken stew, whatever it was; better than the smell of antiseptic. The entire combination kind of reminded Nathan of living at him with his dad after they both got pretty good at loading and setting a crockpot.

Dwight cleared his throat and Nathan remembered the request. It was reasonable, and phrased a lot more politely than his dad would have put it. "Fine, fine. I'll call." Nathan shifted the topic away from his Trouble, which was always his preference, thanks. "You okay? You were limping earlier and you pulled on comfort clothes yourself."

Dwight's hands paused, or the sound of them did, before he chuckled. "Should I ask how you know that? Nobody warned me you were a Holmes."

"My dad didn't say?" Nathan asked dryly. "Nah, these sweats are fairly new. Color and wear on yours isn't. And you sat down harder on the couch than you did on the truck seat. Makes me think your leg's screwing up some."

Dwight chuckled and Nathan relaxed a little more. Nice to have someone not mind that Nathan used all his senses. "I'm good, Chief. Need some bruise salve later, but that stuff stinks and your dad told me you have a better sense of smell than most. No sense putting you off your feed before dinner's ready." He added, "You've got more back bandaged than bare. How close were you?"

"Close enough it got pretty noisy," Nathan admitted. "It's a good thing she wasn't trying to hurt us."

"No wonder you didn't hear me call the first time," Dwight said. Nathan heard Dwight stumble when he came off the couch. He stood up quickly, getting a shoulder under Dwight in time to lower him back down to the coffee table.

"Yeah. How about we patch _you_ up?" Nathan said dryly.

"Probably a real good idea. Think that knee needs to be wrapped before we eat." Trying to maneuver only one leg out of the sweats resulted in a hissed intake of breath and a mutter about, "If that idiot wasn't already dead…."

"You probably wouldn't, but we'd both think about it," Nathan agreed. Dwight's knee was already swollen and starting to go blue around the tangerine-sized imprint of whatever had hit him. "Kevlar vests don't help knees."

"Nope. Don't stop rocks real well, either." Dwight sounded philosophical about it. "Ice packs for now, hot bath with Epsom salts later, bruise salve before I got to bed."

Nathan glanced at him. "Old-fashioned, huh?" He picked up the ace bandage, but Dwight shook his head.

"Nope. You can't feel the tension on it. I'll get this. Get us a couple bowls of the stew, wouldya?" Dwight added, "I like the old methods. You know all the possible side-effects in advance."

Nathan nodded and went to dish out dinner. The stew was smelling better and better as it kept warming up. "That's the damn truth. You should have seen it when the doc put me on a new antibiotic a couple years ago. World suddenly did this," and he turned around to let Dwight see his hand rocking the way his vision had, "and I had to call Dad for a ride to the doctor, him thinking I've missed getting an ear infection or something. Nope. Side-effect of the meds. I've had less trouble in the Teagues' fishing boat in a harbor squall."

"Tell me which one and I'll stay off it," Dwight agreed. "Come on. I'm not gonna get those trees tonight, and I've got the last night of the Stanley Cup saved on tape." He shrugged. "Short of you getting called back to the station, we've both got the night off and that doesn't happen to you much more than it does me."

Nathan probably needed to go back, fill out the report on Salih and Hafya and start making the necessary calls -- to her local cousins so they'd watch for trouble, to the embassy to find out where the body needed to go. But he was tired, and knew his body should be sore. He had dinner in his hands and the rest of the coffee still smelled amazing; there was jazz playing, and the prospect of hockey with someone who knew the rules better than Parker (which, sadly, would still be 'everyone'). And Dwight wasn't wrong about how busy it'd been since the Chief died.

Dwight looked up from working the sweats back up over his leg and pointed out, "Up to you. You've got your phone if the station needs to find you. Take five for the stew at least."

Nathan shrugged and handed over one of the bowls. "Well, I didn't catch the game either. And if I'm here for the start, be a shame not to watch it." What the hell. It'd let him learn more about his dad's cleaner.

If Nathan kinda hated to leave when dispatch did, in fact, call him out, well, he didn't have to admit it. Not even to himself.

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> _Comments, Commentary, or Miscellanea:_  
> 
> 
> _Hijab_ \-- head scarf.
> 
> Anyone besides me and Devo wondering if Haven's Laverne is related to Longmire's Ruby?
> 
> For anyone wondering about Hafya's coffee? She keeps pots and home-roasted beans on hand to make Turkish-style coffee: hand-ground, spiced, boiled, and then condensed down. She keeps it on low until Dwight comes in or she wants some, then thins it back out a little with hot water. Dwight loves the stuff. (And she's definitely got cardamom in it, and cinnamon, and orange peel that she skims off after the coffe boils. What else, I don't know.)
> 
> As to why Hafya's in the States? Word got around back home that she had a girlfriend, which was close enough to true. All she told Nathan when it came up was, "There was a girl. She is dead now. So I came to America." With a Trouble like that, I suspect she had family already in Haven who sponsored her for a green card.
> 
> Ella Fitzgerald can be heard singing about "Black Coffee" [here](http://goo.gl/LVlUL5). 
> 
> I suspect that Haven's PD and their cleaner don't get nearly enough days off. That alone might be reason for writing this.


End file.
